By Heart

I received my husband‘s autopsy report on Wednesday, July 5, 2023. It came three months after his mysterious death. One of our dearest friends, one of Edmond’s closest companions, is an MD and an ER doctor. He is an expert in his field, and a brilliant mind and heart all at once. He’s came over on Saturday morning to interpret the report for me and answer my questions.

In the time between Wednesday and Saturday, I allowed the receipt of the report to sink into this grieving experience. Our friend, the medical doctor, offered to come over immediately to visit with me. But, I knew I needed a little time to open to what was in the waiting. I wanted to be thorough, not skip over anything that might be lurking in my deep pockets where the more difficult questions and feelings like to hide.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel when this report finally arrived. After sitting with it for 24 hours, I began to recognize that I had a lot of emotions about it and around it. There were questions coming through; some I did not think I would have. Some were wholly unexpected. Trying to sit with those questions and allow all of those feelings to surface was more than I thought it would be. I never know how I will feel until I feel it, but still, it was more difficult than I thought it would be. There was more sadness, anxiety, and the panic to feel, and there were and are some edges of anger and regret in the waiting with me too. I am not sure how or if I will approach those. For now, knowing those feelings are there is enough.

The cause of death listed is Valvular Cardiovascular Disease. On Thursday, I looked up lots of medical jargon and related symptoms of this heart condition. The word disease felt accusatory, like we should have known something before it killed him. It felt shameful. I wanted to understand the language, recall what I could from my required biology classes in college. I wanted to have good questions for our friend on Saturday. I read, digested, and allowed the feelings to surface, and the questions rose up. I asked myself to wait here a little longer, stay in the questions and the emotions, the place of non-conclusion, so I could first investigate all that was bubbling up within me.

How can this be the case? He was a runner, a weight lifer, a broccoli eater. He had regular checkups, a colonoscopy (“cleanest colon of the day” according to his doctor), and due to his father’s history and cause of death, medically satisfactory blood work, and uneventful heart monitoring. How could he have not had any symptoms? Did he look a little more tired those last weeks? Was his coloring just a little less bright? I scrolled through pictures to see what I might have missed. I reviewed my memory of our last few days together, and tried to remember through the fog of Covid the last few years of health history. Was a symptom overlooked? Did one of his lab results fall just barely within a margin of normal? But. And. He was so in tune with his physical condition. The man reported his daily status: slept well/or not, hungry/or not, coffee is working!, need more green food—always, and ready for sleep. He was the most embodied human I know. He kept me in my body by his example. What in the hell? None of this made any sense. I had so many questions. There were emotions waiting, too, and to feel depending on the answers to some of those questions. There were emotions generally. And none of the answers would change what matters the most. He isn’t here. 

Every morning I wake up again to a world without him. And this report is a whole layer deeper into this terrible loss. It is a more profound reality of him not being here. It is the physical evidence of his death on paper. This report also starts a whole other trajectory of events, financially, legally, and medically (for our kids). 

There were things, there are things that are in the periphery of this next monumental moment. I feel angry that an autopsy report is public record. The report can be released to anyone who requests a copy. While Edmond was a man of truth and historical facts, he was also private. I do not like that his insides, the state of his body from the last day he was here, the contents of his stomach, organ functions, and the malfunction of his perfect, kind, compassionate heart are available for anyone who wants to know. It seems like I should be able to decide who gets to know the details.

Edmond and I both have typically relied on the opinion of the expert, the professional, the most qualified person, when we take in our information about a particular and important situation. Even when there was a legal issue, if it was outside of his specific area of practice, he would defer to the attorney with the expertise, the most knowledge. 

People read these autopsy reports, and insert their own experiences and form an opinion— layperson or professional, maybe not even medically professional—drawing conclusions or worse, judgments. I knew my minimal and brief research to understand the medical terminology put me in no position to interpret the autopsy report. This was another instance when support, specific support mattered. Drawing conclusions from my limited scope of medical knowledge could have sent me into a spiral of exhausting, unnecessary emotions based on an entirely inaccurate opinion. I do not have that kind of energy to expend these days. My capacity is limited, and my time is precious.

I think of those who have lost loved ones in violent crimes, accidents, and drug overdoses. Unexpected death, maybe any death, is often a walk backward from the death itself, a guess at the events that lead up to the person’s annihilation. It is not a perfect science. It leaves room for inaccuracies; not all the details are knowable. It also leaves room for judgement. From a humble expert, the discernment is a best guess and is usually more meaningful. People who are not the experts or who do not have an expert opinion to inform the event sometimes tend to “should have” these situations, probably from a place of fear and with the intention of finding an answer, or preventing the particular event from ever happening again. Certainty feels better, even if it is inaccurate. It doesn’t change the fact that someone precious is dead, and these fear-based judgments hurt and tear at a much needed foundation of support that those left behind need most. 

For all of us who knew and loved Edmond, his sudden death is hard to understand. It is hard to take in the how and the why of it all. Trying to find tangible evidence took a lot of digging, and still, it is just a best guess by the medical professional who conducted the autopsy. 

For now, I have chosen to focus on the main road in front of me. If the offenses and violations of privacy remain, I will approach them later when I have room and capacity to do so.

Saturday, talking with our friend, who can simultaneously convey compassion and professional medical insights, I learn that there indeed may have been no symptoms, particularly given Edmond’s fitness. I learn that his body was incredibly healthy; his arteries were clear of plaque. Other than what happened in his heart—which is only a best guess—I had not missed anything, and he likely did not notice or perhaps even have any symptoms either. An arrhythmia, an electrical malfunction of the heart, killed him instantly. 

I am deciding what to share, because what was once ours is now mine. I now know more information about Edmond’s physical state and perhaps a little more about what led to his death. What I know for sure, because there were only two experts with regard to our relationship, is that he loved me. I loved him. That love has not died, because I still feel it. I am the expert of my own experience. No one can override that knowing. I knew his heart by heart, and he knew mine.

Sometimes there is a warning, a clue letting us know we need to take another look, get things checked out, or repaired. Last week, after dark, the alarm on the septic system at our office was going off. A neighbor called my husband’s law partner to let him know. He lives in another state, so he called me. It was 10:30pm at night. After letting William and Ellie know where I was heading and putting the glass of sauvignon blanc I had just poured in the refrigerator, I grabbed the headlamp and headed to the office. It was really dark. Our building is off the main road on an acre lot tucked back into a mostly residential area of our small town. I traipsed though the trees and high grasses knowing full well the chiggers were delighted by this opportunity for a late night snack. I regretted not changing from my summertime dress into long pants. There was the stench of a dead animal in the breeze, probably a deer. With the help of the headlamp and the flashing red light on top of the septic box, I found the switch. The sound stopped, and the light continued to flash its alert. Now, the malfunctioning septic system was at least not disturbing the neighbors. I would need to call the septic company in the morning so they could come out and make things right. As I drove home, I talked to Edmond.

I know you would never have allowed me to be the one to do this at night. You would have insisted it be you, and it would not have been a question or argument. It was fine. I am quite capable. Someone needed to attend to the alarm. I guess the only panties I own these days are Big Girl Panties. Fuck, I miss you. You were such a stable, reliable, wild, amazing, brilliant, strong, and big-hearted Man. I have never known anyone like you. You fiercely protected me and our children. You loved me in this whole other way. I miss you. I love you. I know you don’t want me to cry and be sad, but how can I not? I hope to see you in my dreams later. I love you. I miss you. I am staying. I loved your heart. I knew you by your heart.